Concrete Angel 1
by Li Clark
Summary: I know it's not really a play or a musical but it is based on the music video by Martina McBride's Concrete Angel. It tells the story about Angela Carter. ONE SHOT The credit goes to Boogiepop-Phantom. A wonderful artist I met on Repost!


Concrete Angel

Angela Grace Carter stared at the steps to her school. It was hardly a week into the second quarter of her second grade year. She sighed as she shuffled towards the looming doors that led to the academic maze. This was her one escape from the hell she lived at home.  
She quietly walked to her homeroom, eyes staring at the floor and her pair of old, dirty sneakers. She switched her gaze a little higher as she neared room 47, her eyes finding the frayed hem of the tattered dress she had worn to school the day before.  
She slipped into her class unnoticed, as usual. She slid into her seat and slumped down, hiding in her ever present shadow. She cautiously pulled out the homework she had managed to finish in the dead of night just hours before. Glancing about, she uncrumpled it and smoothed it out, sighing as she looked over the recycled paper. This was her fifth time using this particular sheet, her past assignments faintly showing up in the lines that had escaped her small eraser.  
She gave a faint, half-hearted smile as she pushed the homework to a corner of her desk and stared down at the knotted wood. Her finer traced a picture she had etched in the hard oak during the previous quarter. The picture was of a lovely angel, and no matter how sketchy the drawing was, she could feel a warmth coming from it.  
She gradually looked up as the class began to file in. She could feel the stares of many of the students as they looked over her, most in disgust. Her face and hands were smudged with dirt, her hair was sandy and tangled, and her dress was filthy and unkempt.  
But if any of the children gave the effort to look past her urchin appearance, they would see her scars and bruises. She may have been a young girl of eight, but she bore pains that even an old woman never would have felt throughout her entire life.  
The bell rang for classes to begin. Mrs. Thomas began to hand out a stack of papers, a project done the week before. Angela swallowed hard – she had never done that assignment. She hated facing the ridicule of not turning in work, but . . . she could hardly ever do large assignments.  
The teacher passed her desk once, twice, than a third time. Some students were probably laughing to themselves about how Angela had more than likely skipped this project.  
She was more surprised then they were, then, when the teacher handed her a paper. Angela quickly picked it up and folded it to hide it from view. As her amber eyes scanned the writing, her heart sunk. Mrs. Thomas wanted to speak to her after lunch, during recess. She sighed and sunk further into her seat, barely managing to keep down her tears.  
/This is just what I need. . . ./ she thought harshly to herself.  
This had already been a horrible week. Her mother and father were behind in their payments, and to siphon some of the stress, her father was constantly drinking and her mother was jabbing herself with needles and smoking. This led to fights about money, their marriage, and Angela, and in the end, at least two people would have some kind of bruise, and Angela would have the worst outcome.  
There had been a fight every night since last Friday, and here was Tuesday, with Angela in trouble and sure to get beat that night as well.  
She could not keep her thoughts on class. While the teacher started her next lesson, Angela's mind floated off into some other world, far, far away from the Hell that was her home. She went to a place where there were beautiful angels everywhere. She grew her own angelic wings to get there. Everyone in this misty world loved her, and hugged her, and kissed her, and no one ever drank, or did drugs, or smoked, or hit anyone. Everyone here was kind and gentle and so, so beautiful. Angela smiled as her dream-self flew free with the other angels; and in reality, only her body sat at her desk.  
The sharp ring of the lunch bell brought her hurtling back down to her real life. She stood up with the rest of the class and trudged towards the cafeteria. She clutched her small, brown bag to her, staring at the rest of her class, all ahead of her in line. While most quickly got in queue to buy a hot lunch and aAngela Grace Carter stared at the steps to her school. It was hardly a week into the second quarter of her second grade year. She sighed as she shuffled towards the looming doors that led to the academic maze. This was her one escape from the hell she lived at home.  
She quietly walked to her homeroom, eyes staring at the floor and her pair of old, dirty sneakers. She switched her gaze a little higher as she neared room 47, her eyes finding the frayed hem of the tattered dress she had worn to school the day before.  
She slipped into her class unnoticed, as usual. She slid into her seat and slumped down, hiding in her ever present shadow. She cautiously pulled out the homework she had managed to finish in the dead of night just hours before. Glancing about, she uncrumpled it and smoothed it out, sighing as she looked over the recycled paper. This was her fifth time using this particular sheet, her past assignments faintly showing up in the lines that had escaped her small eraser.  
She gave a faint, half-hearted smile as she pushed the homework to a corner of her desk and stared down at the knotted wood. Her finer traced a picture she had etched in the hard oak during the previous quarter. The picture was of a lovely angel, and no matter how sketchy the drawing was, she could feel a warmth coming from it.  
She gradually looked up as the class began to file in. She could feel the stares of many of the students as they looked over her, most in disgust. Her face and hands were smudged with dirt, her hair was sandy and tangled, and her dress was filthy and unkempt.  
But if any of the children gave the effort to look past her urchin appearance, they would see her scars and bruises. She may have been a young girl of eight, but she bore pains that even an old woman never would have felt throughout her entire life.  
The bell rang for classes to begin. Mrs. Thomas began to hand out a stack of papers, a project done the week before. Angela swallowed hard – she had never done that assignment. She hated facing the ridicule of not turning in work, but . . . she could hardly ever do large assignments.  
The teacher passed her desk once, twice, than a third time. Some students were probably laughing to themselves about how Angela had more than likely skipped this project.  
She was more surprised then they were, then, when the teacher handed her a paper. Angela quickly picked it up and folded it to hide it from view. As her amber eyes scanned the writing, her heart sunk. Mrs. Thomas wanted to speak to her after lunch, during recess. She sighed and sunk further into her seat, barely managing to keep down her tears.  
/This is just what I need. . . ./ she thought harshly to herself.  
This had already been a horrible week. Her mother and father were behind in their payments, and to siphon some of the stress, her father was constantly drinking and her mother was jabbing herself with needles and smoking. This led to fights about money, their marriage, and Angela, and in the end, at least two people would have some kind of bruise, and Angela would have the worst outcome.  
There had been a fight every night since last Friday, and here was Tuesday, with Angela in trouble and sure to get beat that night as well.  
She could not keep her thoughts on class. While the teacher started her next lesson, Angela's mind floated off into some other world, far, far away from the Hell that was her home. She went to a place where there were beautiful angels everywhere. She grew her own angelic wings to get there. Everyone in this misty world loved her, and hugged her, and kissed her, and no one ever drank, or did drugs, or smoked, or hit anyone. Everyone here was kind and gentle and so, so beautiful. Angela smiled as her dream-self flew free with the other angels; and in reality, only her body sat at her desk.  
The sharp ring of the lunch bell brought her hurtling back down to her real life. She stood up with the rest of the class and trudged towards the cafeteria. She clutched her small, brown bag to her, staring at the rest of her class, all ahead of her in line. While most quickly got in queue to buy a hot lunch and a snack or two, she walked slowly to a small table in a corner and dropped her lunch back on it. She carefully opened it and took out her tiny lunch – half a peanut butter sandwich and a bruised and rotten apple.  
She quickly ate the small sandwich and looked at the apple. She felt just like it – small and useless, ugly and bruised, a piece of garbage that no one would ever want. She sighed and laid her head down, hunger lurching through her stomach. School was the only time she ever had anything to eat, at least when her mother had the guilty kindness to give her food, so she began to nibble at the apple. It was not like it was her first time eating something so rancid.  
As she finished, she looked up at the clock, dread filling her as she noted she only had give minutes of lunch left – five minutes until she would have Mrs. Thomas yelling at her. She crumpled the brown bag into a ball and stood. She threw it out in a nearby garbage can. No sense in delaying the inevitable, she reasoned, walking towards her class.  
She stepped before the door, sweaty hand grasping the cold metal handle. She sighed, fathered all of her resolve, and pushed open the wooden door.  
The school nurse stood next to Mrs. Thomas. He moved towards Angela quickly.  
She had been to see him several times – and each time she visited the clinic for a skinned knee or a pinched finer, he managed to find some extra bruises and scars. Whenever he asked about them, Angela told them off as consequences of her clumsiness.  
He knelt down before Angela, chocolate brown eyes full of worry.  
"Miss Angela – You remember who I am, right?"  
Angela nodded. "You are Mr. Kiseki, the school nurse," she answered calmly. But despite that collected front, she was more confused than ever before.  
"Good. Now, Angela, I've been talking with Mrs. Thomas recently, and we're both very worried about you. I know you have told me that all of your bruises are from you falling . . . but I can't believe that. Do you know how very important it is to tell the truth?"  
Angela swallowed hard and nodded.  
"If I ask you a question right now, will you answer truthfully?"  
Angela glanced down. She felt cornered. She had no idea what to do. Lying was bad, and she knew that. But if she told the truth, her parents would get mad at her.  
"Angela, please look at me and answer my questions. I promise your parents won't learn about this conversation until we can be sure we can keep you safe. Now . . . do your parents hit you?"  
Angela swallowed hard again, taking several moments to gather her courage. With tears welling up in her eyes, she slowly nodded her head.  
"Are all of your bruises and cuts from them abusing you?"  
Angela nodded again, biting her lower lip to keep from crying.  
Mr. Kiseki placed a firm hand gently on her shoulder. He used his other hand to reach beneath her chin and tilt her head upwards.  
"Angela, what your parents do to you is against the law. And it's not right. Do you understand that?"  
Angela, still unable to control her voice, nodded for a third time.  
"We want to help you, Angela. Tomorrow, you are going to go home with me. I will take you to a place that will take care of your wounds and help you through this. We're going to place you in a family that will not hit you. That will love you. Would you like that?"  
A fourth nod.  
Mr. Kiseki smiled and drew her close in a hug. "This is going to be difficult," he went on in his soothing voice. "But I know you can pull through this. You're a strong child." He slowly pushed her back.  
"Would you like to come down to my office for the remainder of the day?" he asked, glancing to Mrs. Thomas for approval.  
A fifth nod.  
Mrs. Thomas smiled. "It's okay by me." She walked slowly over. "Tomorrow, we can discuss what we can do about your grade, all right? You're a brilliant girl . . . I just wish . . . that I had understood the reasons for you not turning your work in earlier."  
Mrs. Thomas looked away quickly as a tear drew a black line, colored by the teacher's mascara. It was guilt, Angela realized. Mrs. Thomas felt guilty for not realizing this earlier.  
"Come, then, Angela," Mr. Kiseki said as he stood up. He held a slender hand out to her, which she quickly took up.  
Maybe . . . life could be good.

***

Angela smiled softly as she walked up her driveway. An actual smile – something she had not adorned for a long time. She turned as she reached the door, waving to Mr. Kiseki. He smiled at her out of the window of his beat-up car, hair tousled by the wind from driving with the windows open. He gave her a reassuring wink, then one last wave, and drove off.  
Angela's happiness was not to be long-lived, however.  
Her mother met her at the door, scowling down at her.  
"Who the hell was that, Angela??" she snapped. Before letting Angela answer, she grabbed the girl's arm and dragged her inside. She pushed her to the carpeted floor, littered with cigarette butts, empty beer cans, and empty prescription bottles. Angela held back a cry as she skidded across the ground.  
"Well?! Answer me, you ungrateful brat!!"  
"My . . . my nurse!" she cried in answer, huddling close to the floor.  
"What was he doing here?!"  
"T-Taking me home . . . he . . . he wanted to talk to me. . . ."  
"What about?!"  
Kiseki paused, swallowing hard. Mr. Kiseki's voice rang through her head – Do not tell your parents.  
"A-About me . . . joining an after-school sport," she finally replied. Her voice quavered with the lie, but she knew that, under no circumstances, could she tell her mother the truth.  
Then she would never be able to live in a happy place.  
Her mother's arm pulled back. Angela pulled herself close, bracing herself, but was still flung backwards with the blow to her face. She tumbled on the floor, not even trying to get back up.  
"What the hell is goin' on in here?"  
Angela's eyes widened. The gruff voice of her father made her lock up.  
What was he doing home so early??  
"Your daughter's been hanging out with some guy nurse after school. He drove the brat home."  
"My daughter? What the hell?! She's your trash."  
Angela's mother scowled, turning to face the hulk of Angela's father.  
"Mine?! I was the one that wanted the abortion. You were the one that made me go through the biggest mistake of my life!"  
"I didn't know she'd turn out to be so much like her wretch of a mother."  
Angela curled up on the floor. She held her head between her frail hands, doing everything she could think of to keep her tears down. The shouting hurt her head – the words hurt her heart.  
"Look," her father continued, taking a long swig from a can of cheap beer. "Maybe the nurse just needs some, y'know? Maybe he wants the little brat. Let him have her, then. One less problem for us."  
Angela could not stop herself – sobs left her lips. She shook in her fetal position on the ground. She wanted this nightmare to be over – she wanted to start the dream that Mr. Kiseki had promised her.  
"If I was ever once inclined to agree with your drunken stupor, this would be the closest I would ever try," her mother growled as she heard the sobs. She turned, pointed stiletto ramming into Angela's side.  
Angela screamed in pain, curling up.  
"Shut your damn mouth! What have we told you about being loud?!" he father roared, stomping over. He reached down, yanking her off of the floor by the back of her dress. "Why can't you listen to a few simple rules, you ingrate?"  
He slammed her back down onto the ground.  
The pain that ran through Angela's body blinded her. Cracking noises alerted her to new pains that she had never experienced before. Sobs left her lips in rapid succession. The hellish pain just kept worsening with every breath she took.  
She could faintly feel a fist beating on her back. Her mother's rings left marks like fire down her spine. Then something came crashing down on her head. The stench of her father's alcohol covered her as the foul liquid splashed over her. Her sandy hair began to take on a vibrant red as warm blood escaped her body.  
The pain. It was unbearable. Her screams kept coming, and with each scream, more pain. Deeper into the nightmare. There was no escape. She red, black, brown – torturing colors filled her eyes, filled her mind. Kept her screaming and screaming until she had no voice left.  
And then . . . warmth. An emptying warmth. Dullness . . . dullness . . .  
And then, nothing. Black. Death.  
An end to the nightmare.

***

Angela Grace Carter. 1992-2000.  
The quiet angel held few words. Her stone was barely marred by markings – the family that had laid her had had no use for words – they cared nothing for the frail body resting beneath her.  
An extra marker was added beneath the angel.  
"A fragile soul caught in the hands of fate.  
Her nightmare realized one day too late.  
An angel the world has forever lost.  
A beauty by scars embossed.  
A cherub remembered in one heart-  
That wishes to replace what soul had to depart."  
Mr. Kiseki knelt in front of a grave that would probably receive no visitors beside himself. He laid a bundle of yellow lilies – he had learned those to be Angela's favorite.  
Tears ran down the man's face. He was no poet – he could give nothing to the girl's memory.  
"I'm sorry." snack or two, she walked slowly to a small table in a corner and dropped her lunch back on it. She carefully opened it and took out her tiny lunch – half a peanut butter sandwich and a bruised and rotten apple.  
She quickly ate the small sandwich and looked at the apple. She felt just like it – small and useless, ugly and bruised, a piece of garbage that no one would ever want. She sighed and laid her head down, hunger lurching through her stomach. School was the only time she ever had anything to eat, at least when her mother had the guilty kindness to give her food, so she began to nibble at the apple. It was not like it was her first time eating something so rancid.  
As she finished, she looked up at the clock, dread filling her as she noted she only had give minutes of lunch left – five minutes until she would have Mrs. Thomas yelling at her. She crumpled the brown bag into a ball and stood. She threw it out in a nearby garbage can. No sense in delaying the inevitable, she reasoned, walking towards her class.  
She stepped before the door, sweaty hand grasping the cold metal handle. She sighed, fathered all of her resolve, and pushed open the wooden door.  
The school nurse stood next to Mrs. Thomas. He moved towards Angela quickly.  
She had been to see him several times – and each time she visited the clinic for a skinned knee or a pinched finer, he managed to find some extra bruises and scars. Whenever he asked about them, Angela told them off as consequences of her clumsiness.  
He knelt down before Angela, chocolate brown eyes full of worry.  
"Miss Angela – You remember who I am, right?"  
Angela nodded. "You are Mr. Kiseki, the school nurse," she answered calmly. But despite that collected front, she was more confused than ever before.  
"Good. Now, Angela, I've been talking with Mrs. Thomas recently, and we're both very worried about you. I know you have told me that all of your bruises are from you falling . . . but I can't believe that. Do you know how very important it is to tell the truth?"  
Angela swallowed hard and nodded.  
"If I ask you a question right now, will you answer truthfully?"  
Angela glanced down. She felt cornered. She had no idea what to do. Lying was bad, and she knew that. But if she told the truth, her parents would get mad at her.  
"Angela, please look at me and answer my questions. I promise your parents won't learn about this conversation until we can be sure we can keep you safe. Now . . . do your parents hit you?"  
Angela swallowed hard again, taking several moments to gather her courage. With tears welling up in her eyes, she slowly nodded her head.  
"Are all of your bruises and cuts from them abusing you?"  
Angela nodded again, biting her lower lip to keep from crying.  
Mr. Kiseki placed a firm hand gently on her shoulder. He used his other hand to reach beneath her chin and tilt her head upwards.  
"Angela, what your parents do to you is against the law. And it's not right. Do you understand that?"  
Angela, still unable to control her voice, nodded for a third time.  
"We want to help you, Angela. Tomorrow, you are going to go home with me. I will take you to a place that will take care of your wounds and help you through this. We're going to place you in a family that will not hit you. That will love you. Would you like that?"  
A fourth nod.  
Mr. Kiseki smiled and drew her close in a hug. "This is going to be difficult," he went on in his soothing voice. "But I know you can pull through this. You're a strong child." He slowly pushed her back.  
"Would you like to come down to my office for the remainder of the day?" he asked, glancing to Mrs. Thomas for approval.  
A fifth nod.  
Mrs. Thomas smiled. "It's okay by me." She walked slowly over. "Tomorrow, we can discuss what we can do about your grade, all right? You're a brilliant girl . . . I just wish . . . that I had understood the reasons for you not turning your work in earlier."  
Mrs. Thomas looked away quickly as a tear drew a black line, colored by the teacher's mascara. It was guilt, Angela realized. Mrs. Thomas felt guilty for not realizing this earlier.  
"Come, then, Angela," Mr. Kiseki said as he stood up. He held a slender hand out to her, which she quickly took up.  
Maybe . . . life could be good.

***

Angela smiled softly as she walked up her driveway. An actual smile – something she had not adorned for a long time. She turned as she reached the door, waving to Mr. Kiseki. He smiled at her out of the window of his beat-up car, hair tousled by the wind from driving with the windows open. He gave her a reassuring wink, then one last wave, and drove off.  
Angela's happiness was not to be long-lived, however.  
Her mother met her at the door, scowling down at her.  
"Who the hell was that, Angela??" she snapped. Before letting Angela answer, she grabbed the girl's arm and dragged her inside. She pushed her to the carpeted floor, littered with cigarette butts, empty beer cans, and empty prescription bottles. Angela held back a cry as she skidded across the ground.  
"Well?! Answer me, you ungrateful brat!!"  
"My . . . my nurse!" she cried in answer, huddling close to the floor.  
"What was he doing here?!"  
"T-Taking me home . . . he . . . he wanted to talk to me. . . ."  
"What about?!"  
Kiseki paused, swallowing hard. Mr. Kiseki's voice rang through her head – Do not tell your parents.  
"A-About me . . . joining an after-school sport," she finally replied. Her voice quavered with the lie, but she knew that, under no circumstances, could she tell her mother the truth.  
Then she would never be able to live in a happy place.  
Her mother's arm pulled back. Angela pulled herself close, bracing herself, but was still flung backwards with the blow to her face. She tumbled on the floor, not even trying to get back up.  
"What the hell is goin' on in here?"  
Angela's eyes widened. The gruff voice of her father made her lock up.  
What was he doing home so early??  
"Your daughter's been hanging out with some guy nurse after school. He drove the brat home."  
"My daughter? What the hell?! She's your trash."  
Angela's mother scowled, turning to face the hulk of Angela's father.  
"Mine?! I was the one that wanted the abortion. You were the one that made me go through the biggest mistake of my life!"  
"I didn't know she'd turn out to be so much like her wretch of a mother."  
Angela curled up on the floor. She held her head between her frail hands, doing everything she could think of to keep her tears down. The shouting hurt her head – the words hurt her heart.  
"Look," her father continued, taking a long swig from a can of cheap beer. "Maybe the nurse just needs some, y'know? Maybe he wants the little brat. Let him have her, then. One less problem for us."  
Angela could not stop herself – sobs left her lips. She shook in her fetal position on the ground. She wanted this nightmare to be over – she wanted to start the dream that Mr. Kiseki had promised her.  
"If I was ever once inclined to agree with your drunken stupor, this would be the closest I would ever try," her mother growled as she heard the sobs. She turned, pointed stiletto ramming into Angela's side.  
Angela screamed in pain, curling up.  
"Shut your damn mouth! What have we told you about being loud?!" he father roared, stomping over. He reached down, yanking her off of the floor by the back of her dress. "Why can't you listen to a few simple rules, you ingrate?"  
He slammed her back down onto the ground.  
The pain that ran through Angela's body blinded her. Cracking noises alerted her to new pains that she had never experienced before. Sobs left her lips in rapid succession. The hellish pain just kept worsening with every breath she took.  
She could faintly feel a fist beating on her back. Her mother's rings left marks like fire down her spine. Then something came crashing down on her head. The stench of her father's alcohol covered her as the foul liquid splashed over her. Her sandy hair began to take on a vibrant red as warm blood escaped her body.  
The pain. It was unbearable. Her screams kept coming, and with each scream, more pain. Deeper into the nightmare. There was no escape. She red, black, brown – torturing colors filled her eyes, filled her mind. Kept her screaming and screaming until she had no voice left.  
And then . . . warmth. An emptying warmth. Dullness . . . dullness . . .  
And then, nothing. Black. Death.  
An end to the nightmare.

***

Angela Grace Carter. 1992-2000.  
The quiet angel held few words. Her stone was barely marred by markings – the family that had laid her had had no use for words – they cared nothing for the frail body resting beneath her.  
An extra marker was added beneath the angel.  
"A fragile soul caught in the hands of fate.  
Her nightmare realized one day too late.  
An angel the world has forever lost.  
A beauty by scars embossed.  
A cherub remembered in one heart-  
That wishes to replace what soul had to depart."  
Mr. Kiseki knelt in front of a grave that would probably receive no visitors beside himself. He laid a bundle of yellow lilies – he had learned those to be Angela's favorite.  
Tears ran down the man's face. He was no poet – he could give nothing to the girl's memory.  
"I'm sorry."


End file.
